


Somnia Exsomnis

by Calyss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Flirting, Book 5: Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Book 6: Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Book 7: Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Dark Harry Potter, Does this count as somnophilia, Gleefully Making Shit Up, Horcruxes, M/M, Parseltongue the True Language of Love, Seduction to the Dark Side, Self identified, Soul Bond, Teacher Harry, Trelawney fucking shit up, Voldemort has a Teacher Kink Help Him, not an alternate universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-05 06:25:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17319677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calyss/pseuds/Calyss
Summary: Harry James Potter is the new Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, handpicked by the Dark Lord himself. He loves his job, but finds it rather difficult to focus on when three handsome men, a snake and a boggart are hogging his every thoughts.Meanwhile in the waking world, Harry's friends are growing more and more worried as days, then weeks, pass, without any sign of the magical coma he's fallen under lifting.





	Somnia Exsomnis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote most of this chapter while having a fever.

Harry James Potter woke up in his bed in his room in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and almost wished he was still a student.

Not that he _hated_ his job as teacher of Study of the Dark Arts, no, he loved it, had worked hard for it, had almost lost hope that he would ever even get an interview with the Dark Lord, let alone perform satisfactorily enough that he would finally accept to retire from the function to give his entire time to ruling the country. The day he had received the elegantly penned letter announcing him that he'd been "adequate" and "shall return to the castle to take quarter a week before the start of this year's term" had been the happiest of his life so far.

But Merlin's pants he'd been so unprepared nonetheless! What had been all the others the Dark Lord had met before him? Bumbling fools? Well Harry certainly felt like one after having assumed classes that were formerly taught by the very best and greatest wizard of their age, for what felt like ten years but had only been a month, that was for sure!

He was acutely conscious that, bare for the first years, his students had all had a far better teacher than the sum of all those he'd had in his own seven years at school, and had instantly found him lacking, both in presence and talent.

And, well, he'd always enjoyed sleeping in. Something that a teacher definitely couldn't do, now could he? Not that students were exactly _allowed_ either, but he _could_ have, with little more consequences than a detention.

 _Bet they all would be over the moon if I didn't show up_ , he thought with a chuckle that turned into a groan as he rolled over and reluctantly pushed aside his covers, hissing slightly as his bare feet hit the cold stone ground.

Another hissing answered him, and he almost snapped his neck as he whipped his head around to track the sound's origin.

Nagini was lounging on the windowsill, her enormous body coiled so the most of her could bask in the morning light. Still, she was spilling quite a lot overboard.

 _"Good morning, ssssleepy, ssssweet ssssnack,"_ she said joyously.

"Morning, Nagini." He hesitated. "So he's still abroad, isn't he?"

 _"Masssster hasn't come back, no,"_ she hissed, her head raising to the height of Harry's own, and turning left and right so she could look into his eyes. _"Or Masssster would be there to take care of his ssssnakes."_

"Oh so now there are more of you?" Harry asked, amused. Sure snakes were the emblem of the Dark Lord's illustrious line, but maybe *several* overlarge beasts following him around would be a bit overkill, no?

Nagini threw him a look that, even in a snake's eyes, made him feel like he was from a particularly obtuse breed of troll.

Harry shook his head, confounded, and headed to the shower. 

He came out feeling much more ready to affront the day and, giving a wide berth to the wardrobe that had came with the room, walked up to his still unpacked trunk. He was almost a hundredth percent certain that the piece of furniture was home to a boggart and, well, maybe it was a bit ridiculous, since he taught _Dark Arts_ and boggarts were little more than pests, really, but he felt anxious just thinking about what the bloody hell would that one even look like to a man who’d made fear itself a subject of studies.

So he just let it be, always pushing back the task to another day. He didn’t really even need an entire wardrobe, did he, his trunk was _just fine_ for his modest needs, what with that nifty extension charm he’d payed good galleons to have added to it.

He wouldn’t even really need _that_ much proper storage space without the house elves, he admitted to himself with not a little bit of shame as he buttoned a freshly pressed shirt that he knew for a fact he’d thrown across the room to fall in a lump two days before. Merlin but he could be a slob sometimes.

As if on cue, the wardrobe rattled, and out of it came a blood curdling scream, making Harry freeze with one arm in his robes. The scream - a scream of pain, Harry was sure of it - wasn't loud though, but nutted, as if coming from very far away. 

He shivered. Then finished dressing, and went out without a glance to the haunted wardrobe.

 

* * *

 

 

The throne-like chair at the center of the table was empty, as it'd been since the first of September feast.

Harry's own chair sat directly on its right.

It was definitely a good spot. One less person to distract him from his meals. Or from the stacks parchments he'd taken to bring down with him at dinner. Merlin but grading homework was such a hassle!  Not that he would lighten the charge he put on his students. Not for his own comfort. Fulfilling the Dark Lord's doubtlessly high expectations was much more important...

Severus Snape was sitting on the other side of the Dark Lord's chair. He and Harry both ignored each other. It was better that way. They'd hated each other during the entirety of Harry's time at Hogwarts, and it wasn't because he was returning as a teacher that it was going to change.

As a matter of fact, it was probably even worse now that Harry had the job Snape had always wanted.

He had tried for the job before the Dark Lord came to the school to act as its Headmaster. And he probably had asked for it when it had been announced the Dark Lord would retire.

And he'd been refused. 

 _Ah!_ Harry would have paid his weight in gold to see his face when the greasy git had learned who, exactly, was to take up the job. 

He tried to not feel _too_ happy about it. _Be the better man_ , his friend Hermione would often say. _You're not a kid anymore, you can do better than that._

Needless to say he wasn't very successful. Besides having clearly far better looks, it was the only thing he would ever have over him.

Having been chosen instead of Snape would never change the fact that _he_ was the Dark Lord's right hand man - or left, maybe, and hadn't his chair be on the right before? Harry's memories were fuzzy. He'd only got a brief glimpse at the high table before being ushered upstairs when he'd come for his interview - his most trusted servant, to Bellatrix Lestrange well known fury.

He had his trust and respect, something Harry doubted he would ever get. He was already half convinced that his nomination had been a fluke, maybe a bout of sympathy from one half-blood orphan to another. _Maybe one day you can be half as great as I am, if given the chance._

And even more infuriating than Snape's - well deserved, if the rumors were true - position in wizarding society, there was the fact that Snape had known Harry's mother. Had been his _friend_ , even, something that Harry would always find incredible if he hadn't... _Well, best not to think of_ that, he thought as he shoved a nearly entire toast into his mouth, though curse him if he knew what _that_ had been exactly. No, _the important thing_ was that Snape had known Lily Evans laughter, whereas Harry would have to imagine it for the rest of his days.

 _And_ that _he didn't deserved._

So yeah, maybe it was petty, but he was glad he'd stolen what Snape desired most.

 

* * *

 

  
On his way back up he could see tears in some students eyes, most of them Slytherins, and the general mood was as morose as it had been the entire month since they'd all came back from summer break and Harry had started his new job.

They were still all broken up over the Heir, he knew, but _tears_ , still? Had he really been that beloved? Harry could imagine, if the young man had been anything like the Dark Lord, but the man himself didn't seem to care much about the Heir's demise. Almost like he hadn't even  _noticed._

Or maybe that was what all that travelling was about. Maybe a change of scenery was what he needed to get over the loss.

What was it this week, he wondered. Albania again? Harry felt mystified by the Dark lord's interest in the country. Yes, wizarding community there had been severely impacted by Grindelwald's rule, and there was much to do to repair the damages, but still, that didn't explain why the Dark Lord put so much efforts in one little country - _maybe it has nothing to do with the country itself, Harry thought. Maybe he's searching for something there._

"Ouch!" 

Harry's hand flew to his forehead, to the lightning bolt shaped scar that almost bisected it, and he closed his eyes tightly, wishing the visions to disappear. 

 _A dark forest... An empty tree trunk... A sense of missing purpose... Why had he come here? There was nothing for him there... Nothing... He should go back home... Where he was needed... Where there was... Something precious... Something priceless... Something he_ wanted _..._

Harry's knees collided with the stone floor of the hallway and he opened his eyes with a cry. 

"What _the bloody hell_..." he spluttered. 

_Deep breath Potter, deep breath..._

A hand on his racing heart, the other grasping at the nearby wall for support, Harry slowly got to his feet, trying to understand what in 

He shook his head, and the foreign though vanished like mist in the sun. 

He hadn't made ten steps that he'd all but forgotten about it.

Later he would find bruises on his knees, and dream about a dark forest, but for now he had a class to teach, and an absentee Dark Lord to impress.

 

* * *

 

The last class Harry was teaching that day was his most dreaded one. Not because those were seventh years he was teaching to - although that made it all the more daunting. Students that had had six years with the Dark Lord as a teacher? How could he even, compete? - but because of one particular student. 

According to every other teacher in the school - except for Snape, who Harry hadn't asked - Tom was downright brilliant. He was Head Boy, and Harry had seen a plate with his name on it in the Trophy Room, something about special services to the school, though no one had been able to tell him what those services had been... And, well, he was in Harry's _NEWT_ class.

One other thing they could all agree on was how agreeable of a student he was. Polite and amenable, calm and focused. They even praised him on being able to reign in his housemates most, er, _unpleasant_ behaviors.

And yet, as soon has he would pass the threshold to Harry's classroom, he would morph into the most obnoxious person Harry had ever met.

He would strut in, sit in the front row, right in the middle and just... Spread. As if trying to occupy the most space possible, he would recline in his chair, one arm slung over the back of his chair, his long legs spread apart in a way Harry should have found vulgar but couldn't help to think was... Enticing. 

_Curse him._

He talked loudly and laughed even louder, except when he would whisper things to his friends that would make _them_ laugh loudly, quipped in without Harry prompting him or giving him authorization to speak. And whenever came time to actually practice magic, he would never hold back, and had reduced most piece of furniture in the room to splinters at least once, and sent half of his classmates to the infirmary. 

There was a sort of _alpha male_ vibe about the whole thing, as if Tom was trying to assert his dominance by all means. Which included harassing others students apparently, with backhanded jinxes and hexes - as if the regularly scheduled duel Harry organized between his students weren't enough. It often caused a quiet sort of chaos, as most students seemed to afraid of him to riposte, or complain to Harry - who himself was of the mind that they should have done the former if they had any balls, or the later if they too weak to stand up for themselves, but if they didn't want to make a fuss about it then he wouldn't either.

He'd thought at first that Tom was going haze him or something. Harass the new teacher, make him pay for thinking that he could replace the Dark Lord that easily. But Tom's thuggish manners weren't actually directed _at_ Harry. Not really.

On the contrary, it looked like he was trying to _impress_ him.

Well he was going about it the wrong way. Harry wasn't impressed. Not at all. 

He was however, very flustered by the attention.

Because Tom was also... _disturbingly intense_. 

He had a way to look at him that made Harry feel naked in more ways than one. It was like he wasn't just imagining what Harry was looking like without his clothes, as if that wasn't already bad enough, but also could read into his mind, and see into his soul. Or at least would have very much wanted to.

Needless to say all of that wasn't doing any good to Harry's capacity to teach a proper class. He was feeling more and more like the bumbling fools he'd imagined the Dark Lord had refused the post to before Harry had come along and he was starting to fear he would not keep said post much longer if that situation went on.

 _Urgh_ , Snape would probably throw a bloody party.

 

* * *

  

Today was no different from the others.

Tom was sitting in the front rank, his posse of Slytherins fanned out at the tables around him. They didn't seemed to find his apparently out of character behavior curious, in fact seemed rather amused by it. 

_Wankers. Can't they be depressed and teary eyed like the rest of their House?_

The Head Boy was leaning forward over his desk, elbows resting over it and long fingers drumming an impatient beat on the battered wood. He had rolled up his sleeves, exposing his pale forearms to the late afternoon light.

 _Those were_ really nice _forearms_ , Harry couldn't help but think.

Harry huffed as he waved his wand to inscribe the day's lesson's title on the blackboard, feeling disappointed in himself.  _Get a grip, they're just bloody arms. Are you going to wax poetic about his eyebrows next?_

He turned around toward the class and Tom... Tom fucking _winked_ at him! 

Harry adverted his eyes immediately, hoping he wasn't actually blushing. He _did_ felt hot under the collar... Hoping that it would make think anyone who would have notice that it had a natural cause, he took off his robes, taking his sweet time to go hang them at the hook behind the class's door. It left him in simple trousers and shirt, and a waistcoat that his mirror had told him was rather fetching on him.

He almost face palmed when he realized what an error it had been. 

Tom had shifted in his seat, now sitting much more upright, and Harry caught his eyes darting upward when he turned around. His fingers were pressed to his lips as if to contain something in. 

He looked _hungry._

Harry cleared his throat, cursing himself, and Tom, and his mirror, and pretty much all the choices he'd made that had led him there on his day. Then he started his lesson.

"Now, the Wakeful Dream. why is this an useful spell, you might ask," he was saying, five minutes in, "and why am I the own to teach it to you rather than Professor Flitwick... Well it might seem like a rather innocent, pleasant Charm but believe me, it is not. First of all it's classified as a Hex, and you can usually trust Ministry Classification, even if you have to do some work to find a way a spell can be used in a different way than the most evident one." 

"But professor, if we follow that logic," Tom interrupted him without raising his hand. Harry couldn't be bothered to remind him, though, as he himself didn't remember much whenever he heard _that_ voice. "Then spells such as _Aguamenti_ should be Hexes too. I mean, one could kill someone with it, of they were in the mood for some drowning."

Harry grinned. Oh so he _could_ show some of that cleverness for something other than intimidating his classmates when he wanted.

_Well he might just be trying to threaten someone with drowning, but still._

"Yes indeed, Tom, but one of the ways Spell Classes are decided is by counting the number of ways a spell can be used according to said Class. Now I'm pretty sure there is more way for _Aguamenti_ to be used for genial than ill purpose. But not this spell." It tapped his wand against the blackboard, and the name of the spell shone bright for a few seconds. "Though I don't think they counted in the more, uh, _trippy_ possibilities..." There was a general laughter. "I'm also rather certain that there are way more "dark" usages to it. Something wizards and witches have been aware of since the discovery of this spell, as made evident by its more common name. Anyone here knows it?"

All eyes turned to Tom, but he just kept looking at Harry, silent.

"No one? Disappointing."

He gave pointed his wand at the blackboard once more and under the official name of the spell appeared the words " _Waking Nightmare_."

He demonstrated the spell once, twice, then a third time just to be sure, then made the students stand up and cleared the desks occupying the center of the room.

The students paired up, and spells echoed in the classroom.

None were really having an effect as far as he could tell. But it would come soon. They just had to get in the mood.

Harry walked from a pair to another for a few minutes, correcting a wand move here, answering questions about the needed mindset to cast the spell there, and inevitably, his feet ended up leading him to Tom. 

The young man turned to him as soon as he stopped next to him and the classmate he was paired with, not even bothering with pretending he hadn't been following Harry's progression.

The hungry look was gone, replaced by something that looked almost innocent.  

"I must be doing something wrong," he said with a pout that Harry tried very hard - and failed - to not think of as "adorable". "Could you help me with the wand movements?"

Tom's classmate - Nott, he thought he recalled, he still had a bit of trouble with some students names - who'd been chuckling, looked really apprehensive, suddenly.

Had he been laughing at Tom's lack of success? Surely he wouldn't have dared... Harry had noticed that other students never laughed _at_ Tom, but always _with_ him. 

Was he afraid of what Tom would do to him once he allowed himself to perform the spell correctly. Because Harry was pretty sure he was flunking it on purpose. 

Would Tom be cruel? Tap into some fears of Nott that only people that had lived together for years could be aware of? Somehow Harry had no trouble picturing it. He'd been downright vicious whenever Harry had made his class practice dueling. 

He didn't look vicious now, though. He held his wand low, as if he couldn't begin to imagine what to do with it. 

Harry heaved a sigh of frustration, but for some reason he just could not bring himself to say no to Tom. Before he even realized he was doing it, he had walked up to the young man and with a motion of the hand, invited him to turn toward Nott once more.

He looked at Tom's elegant profile, the now serious expression that down-turned the corner of his lips. The straight edge of his nose and the light flair of nostrils as he took a centering breath. His pitch black, wavy hair that Harry wanted to mess up so badly it hurt, the dark shade of his eyelash over sharp cheekbones...

He was breathtaking, Harry had to admit... And he felt terrible for it.

It just _wasn't right_. Tom was his student and, as far as he knew, still underage. 

 _For only a few months at most_ , a sneaky little voice that sounded suspiciously like Tom's said at the back of his mind.

He pushed it down firmly.

And yet he couldn't help but put a hand on Tom's lower back to straighten his posture. 

"Mhm, that's better. Now..."

He took Tom's wrist in his right hand, and guided him trough the spell's motions.

" _Ssssay it_." 

_"Somnia Exsomnis!"_

His pronunciation was, of course, perfect.  

"Am I doing it right? I can't tell..." he asked a bit breathlessly, and Harry could just tell he was _feeling_ the spell working its way through Nott's brain.

Harry chuckled humorlessly.

"Oh, you're doing it right." 

 _And you know it. You probably would have done it right the first time if you had really_ tried, he thought but didn't said.

Everyone in the room could probably tell. Nott's eyes had glazed over, and his own wand was dangling uselessly from his too lax grip. Not that it would had served him anyway. Harry had defended from using even a _Protego_ that day. That would come later, when they would try the spell  in the middle of duelling.

"What is he seeing?" Tom asked softly.

" _You_ tell me," Harry responded in the same tone. "You're the one in control."

Tom's eyes snapped to him, but his wand stayed pointed on Nott.

"Am I now?"

Oh, yes, Tom could be cruel. It was in the line of his mouth, in the way his pale, full lips curled into a into a slightly unhinged grin. In the the heavy weight of his dark eyes...

A scream startled Harry for the second time that day.

It was Nott, of course. He'd finally dropped his wand, and was clawing at his face in anguish. 

As Harry came back to his senses - and where had he gone to? - the room itself seemed to surge back to reality. And the students within it, as if Nott screams had conjured their memory from the depths of a pensieve. Harry took a hurried step away from Tom, realizing only then that his hand had still been resting on the young man's back.

He cleared his throat and held a hand to gather the class's attention - needlessly, Nott was doing that perfectly by himself, but he felt like he had to _do_ something to remind them he was the one in charge there.

"So this is a perfect example of how this spell can be used to cause arm - though I'd suggest, Tom, that you'd show him something a bit less... Close to his face." 

Deep, bloody gouges were starting to form on Nott's cheeks, and scarlet rivulets to flow down his neck. Harry would get another earful from Madam Pomfrey at dinner, he just knew it.

Tom frowned, turning to Nott as if he too, had forgotten his existence until Harry had talked to him. With a shrug, he gave a whirl of his wand and Nott's shouts quieted down into sobs and he fell to the ground, where he curled up, arms around his knees. 

Harry cast a quick _Episkey_ on Nott before leaving Tom to experiment with the effect of the vision he was giving to his housemate. He wasn't very good at healing and most of Nott's injuries were still present, but at least he had stopped bleeding, and would be fine until the end of the two hours, when he would be free to visit the infirmary. 

He ordered the pairs of students to switch every five minutes, and by the end of the class, he had had to cast several Silencing Charms as the students were getting more and more vicious with each other, getting revenge for the doubtless horrifying dreams they'd been pulled in and out.

Most of them left in tears - _they should fit right in with the rest of the school_ , Harry couldn't help but think - and half of them with self inflicted wounds.

He wouldn't feel bad about it any time soon though. What they had experienced today would make them stronger, in the long run. None had managed to resist the spell, not even Tom. But they would learn. And they already know how to work the spell. A weapon more in their arsenal.

As always, Tom was lingering, taking his sweet time to pack up his things. He hadn't cried nor screamed, but Harry almost wished he had. Instead he had fallen to his knees, trembling, and had _begged_. 

It had been only whispers, but somehow Harry had heard them clear as day.

_"Don't make me go back there... I can't... I can't go back in the dark... Don't make me... Please, please... I don't want to be alone anymore... I want to feel alive... I want to be alive... Please... Don't make me... Please don't bury me again... Ssso alone..."_

Nott had looked perplexed at first, but then he had shrugged, and as Harry understood it, decided that what he was doing was enough, for Tom's pleas hadn't changed - only got more desperate.

Tom looked just fine now. Maybe a bit pale, but it was hard to tell, given his naturally fair complexion. He was hovering by the door now, seeming pensive.

It was a perfect set up for a conversation. Harry just had to ask him if there was something on his mind...

And he _needed_ to have a conversation with him about his behavior. Needed to make some things clear.

But not today. 

 _You coward,_ Harry berated himself as he gave a whirl of his wand, levitating the stack of assignments piled up on his desk and through the open door that led to his office.

 _Godric Gryffindor would be ashamed of you_ , he thought as he fled up the stairs to said office, so quickly that it must have looked like he'd cast _Wingardium Leviosa_ on himself to an exterior eye. 

 _You won't be able to hide forever_ , said that same voice from earlier.

Harry gritted his teeth, pushing down once more his inner devil to the recesses of his conscience.

_No, but I can try._

And with a final gesture of his wand, Harry shut the door to his office - but before it could close completely, he had the time to see a pair of dark eyes, looking up at him. 

 

* * *

 

Harry woke up early on Saturday morning. He greeted Nagini, who was intertwined with one of his bed's posts, avoided his rattling wardrobe, put on casual robes and walked down the castle hallways and stairwells, enjoying a quietness that could only be found when students were asleep.

He walked through the castle's park, and the fresh air of early October achieved to wake him up. This was going to be a beautiful day, with not a cloud in the sky, bare for the black mass surrounding the Dark Mark that had been cast over the castle to commemorate the Heir's death. A perfect day for shopping.

At the gates he Disappeared away, and Appeared back in London.

The capital's streets were already bustling with life, of course, and Diagon Alley was only marginally better. But no one stopped Harry as he made his way down the street, which provided him with a strange, inexplicable sense of relief.  

Even under the Dark Lord's reign, Knockturn Alley was still a place where wizards of good names didn't like to be seen. They didn't even really _needed_ to now that Dark Magic shops were flourishing in Diagon Alley, but Harry had quickly learned that if you wanted quality, Knockturn was still the place to go. And he didn't much care about his good name anyway.

He entered _Borgin and Burkes_ with a spring in his step that would have surprised anyone who knew of the shop. It was in fact one of the most depressing places Harry had ever visited, dusty and dark and reeking of dark magic, but there was one thing in there that always made his mood better.

"Mr. Riddle," he said with a timid smile as he stopped in front of the counter and the tall, dark haired man standing behind it.

Harry prided himself in being a confident man. He'd been sorted in Gryffindor, after all, had went on to be one of the most skillful duelist of his generation, and at twenty five, had had more conquests than the Chudley Cannons counted victories - and no that was far from being a null amount, thank you very much, they had been _good_ at some point - but he'd quickly found out that there was no way to stay confident when confronted to _Borgin and Burkes_ ' young shopkeeper.

Oh but Riddle was handsome! Too handsome even, for one that worked in such an ugly place. 

"Mr. Potter, what a pleasant surprise!" Riddle's smile was almost blinding, and Harry felt weak in the knees as the man's dark eyes swept over him. "Tell me, what can I do for you today?"

 _Oh, so many things_ , Harry thought, then grimaced as he caught himself. _First Tom, then him... This isn't right. I_ _have to stop._

Riddle's smile wavered and Harry scrambled for something that wouldn't make him pass for a rude arsehole.

"Please, call me Harry!" he almost shouted, words coming out of him in a rush. "I've been hearing my family name all too many times in the past month. "Professor Potter" there, "Professor Potter" here... Please, call me by my first name. How long have we known each other?" he added with a weak smile.

Curse him but this wasn't much better. He might just faint if Riddle really started calling him by his name.

"Five years, if my memories are correct," Riddle said with an expression that said that, _of course,_ he was correct. He was the type of person that was rarely, if ever, wrong. You could just see tell with one look at him. "Fine, but then you've got to call me..."

" _RIDDLE!_ Stop trifling with the clients and do your bloody job!"

The shout was accompanied by what Harry guessed was a Stinging Hex, that hit Riddle at the back of the head. He lurched slightly forward at the impact, catching himself on the counter and... Had his eyes flashed _red_? No, it must have been a trick of the light.

"Are you al..." 

"You ordered some books, was it?" Riddle cut in abruptly, all trace of friendliness gone from his voice.

There were dark splotches of red on his cheeks, that spoke of his humiliation, and his hands were trembling on the counter. He breathed heavily and his eyes stayed downcast.

"I'll be right back with them."

To Harry's, relief, he didn't mention what they were probably both thinking: that he could just as well have sent them by owl. 

So Harry graciously didn't mention that he could just as well have summoned them to the front of the shop. Let the man regain his composure without witness.

And now that he thought about it... Had he ever seen Riddle with a wand in hand? Had he ever seen him do magic at all? Merlin, he couldn't remember...

But no, that was a ridiculous idea. There was no way _a squib_ would be allowed to work in such a place, was there?

Pushing aside his silly thoughts, Harry occupied himself by looking around the shop. There were only a few new things on display, among them a Vanishing Cabinet that seemed irremediably broken and what was without a doubt a Hand of Glory. There was a locket, too, with a tiny snake make of emeralds, coiled in the form of an 'S', on it. It was in a glass case, and protected by a whole slew of charms and wards. It was probably cursed.

Just as predicted, when Riddle came back his features where once more akin to those of a Renaissance statue than anything remotely human.

Which was better than the fury it had displayed earlier, but not as good as the simple, endearing joy he had shown while speaking with Harry.

Harry felt disappointed, and angry toward the shop owner. He had yet to see to the man's face, had only ever heard his voice echoing through the shop as he shouted orders and insults at Riddle. 

_He better keep it that way, for his own sake. I'd very much like to send some Stinging Hexes of my own his way._

They bid each other polite goodbyes and Harry left the shop, mood soured and heart aching.

It was only as he Disappeared away that he realized he'd never caught Riddle's first name.

 

* * *

 

On Monday morning, Harry entered the Great Hall... And froze.

His chair was the only one unoccupied at the teachers's table.

The Dark Lord was there. 

Harry threw a panicked glance at Nagini. The snake had insisted that he brought her down to breakfast, and she had wrapped herself several time around his shoulders, her big head hovering over his like a living periscope - which Harry hoped looked more intimidating than ridiculous. He'd had to cast a lightweight charm on her so she could do so. She was so big and heavy, he had trouble to believe she was of non-magical nature.

Would the Dark Lord take offense at Harry parading around with his familiar?

But the snake just hissed softly, a wordless sound, like a human would hum or shrug. 

As he passed the Slytherin table, and to distract himself from what for some reason felt like impending doom, waiting for him at the high table, Harry raked the rank of students in silver and green, searching for Tom. But he wasn't there. Nor was his usual group of followers. Strange.

When Harry finally sat at he high table, The Dark Lord turned his crimson eyes on him, effectively interrupting whatever Snape was ranting to him about. 

"Good morning, my Lord."

"Good morning, Harry."

A shiver run along Harry's spine at hearing the Dark Lord say his name. There was a peculiar quality to his voice, as if he was always on the verge of switching to Parseltongue. 

 _Or maybe he_ is _speaking Parseltongue._  

Not like Harry would notice the difference.

It had often been an issue for him, not being able to tell when he was hearing the snake's language. He'd even thought he was going mad once, because of it.

"I see you and Nagini have been getting along..." 

Harry fumbled to detach Nagini from himself, almost flinging her into orbit as he'd forgotten to lift the Lightweight Charm. He set her in her lap, from where she sled up to the table and wound herself around the Dark Lord's chair. She placed her head on his shoulder and close her eyes, hissing contentedly as he petted her scales. 

"Yes my Lord... She... Well I guess she just wanted someone to speak to?"

 _"Is that ssso?"_ the Dark Lord asked, not to Harry, but to Nagini.

The snake rippled strangely, as if laughing - but snakes couldn't laugh, could they - and she hissed something in the Dark Lord's ear, low enough that it was all Harry could hear: a hissing, soft and slow.

The Dark Lord laughed, and Harry felt mortified. What had she told him? 

"She likes you!" the Dark Lord informed him, though Harry would have bet his wand that it was definitively _not_ what Nagini had told him. "Which makes me think..." His laugh died as suddenly as someone hit by the Killing Curse. "I wanted to ask you... And maybe I should have before I hired you but, what can I say, you impressed me, and that's a rare thing, I can tell you, _Harry_." 

"What do you want to know, my Lord?"

The Dark Lord tapped his chin with one finger and asked, bluntly:

"Why are you here?"

Harry felt himself blush under the Dark Lord's unwavering stare. 

The answer was simple, really. Maybe even _too_ simple.

He'd always admired the man. Ever since he'd stepped into Professor Quirrell's classroom when Harry was eleven, and he had understood why exactly the Dark Lord was, well, _the Dark Lord_. 

He hadn't be in control of the school, back then, or even the Ministry. But everyone had known that it would only be a matter of time. He'd been the one who had defeated Grindelwald, after all, putting an end to a reign that had lasted nearly half a century and shattering the rising tide that were his masses of followers all across the continent. And just in time: the British Isles were about to be gobbled up like Harry would a slice of treacle pie. And no one was ready to pay the price that had to be paid in order to do it. No one but the Dark Lord. 

He'd graciously accepted to come to Hogwarts and take over - what was then called - Defense Against the Dark Arts classes for a day. Quirrell had been as exited as his students, babbling about the Dark Lord's duel technique and his mastery of - well, of most types of magic, really - for a full week before D Day, making Harry roll his eyes at his childish enthusiasm. 

He'd been so ignorant, back then, muggle raised if not born. He had known nothing of wizarding history, or even about the current political climate. All he knew was that life in continental Europe was weird and bloody. Even teachers at his muggle school were confused about what was really happening on the other side of the Channel, and never mind that it had been happening for decades. 

And he had known nothing of what wizards were really capable. Oh, he'd seen some nifty tricks, beginning with Hagrid giving his cousin a pig tail and ending with himself getting to practice magic with that awesome wand he'd purchased a few months earlier. But nothing had prepared him for what he would witness that day. 

He'd been blown away.

Not just by the magic - though it had been _very_ impressive.  

Quirrell had looked _afraid_ of most of what he was teaching them - and they were only first years! could he even go through a seventh year lesson without pissing himself? - which in retrospect could be explained by a simple thing:  _Defense Against the Dark Arts_ , pfwah! Of course they _would_ be afraid if they were told to _fear_ the Dark Arts! 

But the Dark Lord... 

He'd told the children sitting in front of him to not be afraid of the dark, but to instead make the dark their weapons. For they were witches and wizards. They were the children of the night, the monsters in muggles' fairy tales. Magic bent to their will and if their will was strong, then they could be invincible. 

And that they _needed_ to be strong. Needed to be invincible. For they were surrounded. A dwindling species assaulted from every direction by the weakest of the weak: muggles. Those were the real evil - and at that Harry had nodded along. The bruises had finally faded from his skin but not the memory of the blows - destroying the earth and punishing wizardkind for being better than them, it was all they knew how to do. 

Oh the magical blood was strong. Strong enough to re-emerge wherever it had been taken over by mundane mud. Sometimes. Not always. 

And it wouldn't grow strong again until they had repaired the damages that the war against Grindelwald had caused - though he'd never accused Grindelwald himself to be the source of the Wizarding World's illness. No, he'd blamed the lack of unity, had even deplored that the British Isles had not joined him from the start, instead feeding into a conflict that had costed the life of hundreds of wizards and witches, and that he had had to end in blood.  

That day he had learned that Dark wasn't necessary Evil but, well, _necessary,_ just like the Dark Lord killing Grindelwald had been. It was the prize to pay if you wanted to be great. If you wanted to be strong. And because of what the Dark Lord had said to them that day, Harry, who had been weak and insignificant from the first eleven years of his life, had decided that he would follow in the path of the Dark.

Because even though the name sounded bad, it was just that: a name. 

Harry wasn't _evil_. He thought he was a pretty nice, well balanced bloke all things considered. He just was ready to make sacrifices for the greater good. 

"Mhm. I see. Good."

Harry's gaze found its focus again, and he realized he hadn't said a word, instead losing instead into the crimson eyes of the Dark Lord.

"Uh, I'm sorry, I..." he trailed off as the Dark Lord got up, Nagini slithering down to the ground as he did so.

A pale hand with long, elegant finger came to rest on Harry's shoulder and he looked up at the Dark Lord, feeling still quite dazed.

The Dark Lord was smiling. That, added to the wave of raven hair that fell onto his left eye, gave him a sort of boyish charm that Harry would never have thought to associate with the man, and he had to swallow back the sudden lump in his throat at the Dark Lord squeezed his shoulder lightly.

"You and I, Harry, we'll do amazing things."

And then he left. 

 

* * *

 

In the waking world, Hermione Granger looked up from the book that sat in her lap as a sigh left Harry's lips. Her heart beat faster as a brief spark of hope cast a light over her tired thoughts. It was early in the morning, so early that the sun wasn't yet up. She hadn't slept yet.

Her eyes raked Harry's face, searching for a sign that this louder than usual intake of air was a sign her friend was waking up.

But nothing else happened.

Harry just slept on.

"Anything?"

Ron's voice made her jump in her chair, and he put a comforting hand on her shoulder, rubbing at it a little before letting go. 

"I thought... No, nothing."

"Alright then." There was disappointment in his voice, though it was muted by now. They didn't had much hope left after six weeks without any change, and every wizard who knew something about the this kind of issue coming by to examine Harry, to no avail. "Go get some sleep before classes, I'll watch over him."

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "What is this bullshit?" you might ask "the title is about dreaming awake while the summary says he's asleep?! that doesn't make sense!" well, no. not yet. but at some point it will. also how cool is that title? i had to use an actual latin textbook to come up with it! so am keeping it!
> 
> 2\. I checked the wikia (and saw a CoG spoiler i'm crying) and the Cannons "have won the League Cup twenty-one times, the last time in 1892"... Well I didn't intend for Harry to be quite as successful but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ whaddyawant he's a handsome fucker. 
> 
> 3\. Come find me @ calyssmarviss.tumblr.com!


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